So I am seriously up at 4 a.m. Please expect many grammatical errors, extensive sarcasm, and explicit content.
I’ve actually been up since three, self-educating myself on all sorts of health nonsense, when I thought,
“Nobody is awake. I could actually have a cup of coffee with NOBODY to bother me.”
If you don’t have kids, you might think I’m insane. But to my fellow mamas and daddies, that’s right. I am a genius! That is until I crash by 11, when my younger 2 conquer any shred of energy I have left. They will sense my weakness. They have that extra sense, you know. They’re like little soldiers now. Not like refined, American soldiers. They’re more like the ones in Braveheart or Vikings…you know…that just run around screaming and yelling incomprehensible words for “victory,” like every toy and clean wall must be destroyed. I have a toddler that won’t nap anymore and simultaneously finds something destructive to do everyday during “quiet time” in her room.
Yesterday Addie stole a pen out of Ana’s room, colored on her walls, and then “fixed” her wall decal flower garden that took every shred of my limited artistic ability to create. Don’t worry. I now know that in Addie’s mind, flowers should grow horizontally without flower heads. Just stems. Just a clusterfuck of stems. Her cute little garden room is now “perfect” she says. Things like this make me realize what a control freak I am. The best part of that entire incident was the confession. She comes down the stairs (and by that I mean that every time she transitions from step to step, you’d think she’s dragging a body with her,) and bangs right on into the living room. She’s holding a pen and it’s covered in beautiful flower head stickers. She looks right at me and says,
“Mommy, I did NOT color on my walls,”
which I follow with, “Addie, did you color on your walls?”
annnnd she bursts into sobs, “Yesssss I did!!!”
The thing I love about Addie, is that she doesn’t lie. She is straight up biotch with you sometimes. She doesn’t care. There’s no sugar coating anything and at three, the most
torturous glorious of all ages, I can see little flashes of her grown up self, thinking she’s running the world and everyone around her. Sometimes I literally think, “this must have been what Hilary Clinton was like when she was 3,” but then I shake my head and hope for the diverged road because I’ll admit it…I’m not a Hilary fan.
So maybe this cup of coffee in the dark was a bad idea. But I’m gonna go with it.
By the way, can you imagine if my husband was awake right now and had to deal with my ramblings? I mean, he probably is awake wondering what on earth it is I’m doing, since he built a Fort Knox home and I have to enter a very loud pin code just to escape my bedroom or I will set off an intruder alarm, and then I would be having coffee with 4 screaming/fighting/tired kids. It is somewhat defeating when you can’t sleep and you want to just casually slip out of the bedroom, have coffee, and be a crazy person in peace, but have to enter a security code to do so. Each button beeps so loud, I may as well just announce that I’m not tired in the middle of the night, because that’s normal, and I’m going to go do laundry, have coffee and be productive, because that’s normal, oh and I’m going to blog about how normal I am. I bet other normal people get up at 4 and are excited about how much they can get done without anyone else around. My last thought before I came downstairs was, “I could have all the laundry done by 7.” Yup. But first I have to have a big bowl of normal for breakfast.
So if I am lucky enough to not have the walls drawn on later, or the toilet emptied onto the floor with a tea cup (truth,) I will certainly have my smile slapped off my face when Ana and Mason get home from school. This is when I will learn that I am definitely NOT a genius. I don’t get it. I really don’t. Is it just my kids, or does it seem like things are half taught? The way my kids confront homework, specifically math, you would think the teacher just stood in front of the class, made verbal statements and that was it. It seems like they teach and then the kids bring home work and as a parent, you have to complete teaching them their lesson. Maybe not. I’m not trying to be offensive and I will totally write it off as genetic doom. I seriously sat down with Ana, my fifth grader, over the weekend to work on a 15 page math packet that was due Wednesday, (because America is concerned with raising future geniuses…
wusses..everyone is a winner, I mean geniuses) and we both established that I am a total idiot.
I was convinced that the packet had to have a workbook that went with it and that all of the questions were referencing something that made some shred of sense because the questions and word problems are SO ass backwards—they couldn’t just be by themselves! Nope. I’m just obviously too below the current fifth grade math level to understand how to help my daughter.
If you know someone that tutors adults, let me know. Jr. High is going to get seriously ugly. I mean, really…when I’m wikipedia-ing every other term and conversion reference, there’s obviously an issue. That homework session ended with me saying, “we’re done and I’m writing your teacher a note saying I don’t know how to do any of this.” And of course, “are you sure there wasn’t a workbook?”
I didn’t write a note, though. I will wait for the phone call or email and I will confess that I’ve forgotten everything I ever learned in life that I don’t apply on a daily basis. Then I will “wow” him with all the nonsense I do know. Then he will just feel bad for Ana and give her good grades. No?
All that being said, my cup of coffee this morning was glorious! Sometimes you just have to make time for yourself and in my house, where any given day kids are up between 5 and 7 with no reason as to why, 4:00 seemed okay.
And I guarantee those little turds (I say that in love,) all had a chit chat last night and decided that today, they will sleep until 7.